


Droplets

by tealmoon



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Bukkake, Consensual Non-Consent, Crotch Stepping, Crying, Ecto-Genitalia (Undertale), Fellcest - Freeform, Grinding, Humiliation, M/M, Magic Bondage, Omorashi, Squirting, Violence, dismemberment threat, it would have been embarrassing to forget the piss tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 13:04:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19377283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tealmoon/pseuds/tealmoon
Summary: When Papyrus fucks up, it always falls to Sans to punish him, but he doesn't mind.





	Droplets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [0neType](https://archiveofourown.org/users/0neType/gifts).



The walk home together was stiff-backed and silent, at least for Papyrus. He stalked behind Sans, who laughed at his own jokes and didn’t bother looking back to confirm his brother was following. He knew better than to run away. Sans considered stopping off for some fries at Grilby’s, really play up the humiliation by making him wait outside, but they still had a public image to keep up. He settled for walking home as slow as possible, knowing Papyrus wouldn’t overtake him.

Home came too soon, and Papyrus stood in the middle of the living room, grimly watching as he locked the doors and checked the windows. “So,” Sans started casually. “Are we gonna do things the hard way, or are you gonna make it easy for yourself?”

With a hiss, Papyrus lunged at him, aiming a punch at his cheekbone. Clearly didn’t want the easy route, and he never did.

There was nothing elegant about it, none of Papyrus’s guard training or magic. It was rare for him to rely on claws and teeth alone, so his efforts were sloppy. On the other hand, Sans’s mandatory sentry defense training worked _great_ for brawling, clawing through his shirt and trying to leave bruises anywhere he could reach. By the time he took a stray kick to the shins, probably gouged by those needle heels, though, his patience was running out. He tackled his brother to the carpet. Papyrus was clawing the whole way down, but that neatly stopped with Sans’s throat around his neck.

His fingers closed over Papyrus’s cervical vertebrae, tight enough for him to feel the threat without permanent harm. “If you’ve got that out of your system, how ‘bout you settle down.” He was so still he wasn’t breathing, watching Sans warily. “ _Well?_ ” He had to squeeze a little before Papyrus gave a shallow nod, and when Sans let go and climbed off of him, he stayed in place.

Motionless and quiet, even when Sans slapped him across the face. He was being pretty obedient, but he lost points for that glare. Sans would remember that. “Get up, on your knees, hands on the floor.” The suggestion didn’t sit well, from the sour look on his face, and Sans kicked him in the middle ribs, once, twice. Nowhere near enough to crack them, but enough to flush them with pink. “I said, _get on your knees_. And if you don’t put those hands down, I’m taking them off at the wrists.”

Snarling, Papyrus pulled himself to the desired position. Their carpet was a shitty mess, so Sans knew it’d become uncomfortable after a minute, and it’d burn after five. Sans hoped to see bruised kneecaps by the time they were done.

He was never the best at stripteases, but he tried to make it interesting anyway, swaying his hips as he shoved his shorts down and stepped out of them. It was about _anticipation_ , making Papyrus have to wait an extra minute for what he already knew was coming. Sans stepped out of his shoes (kicking them into a sloppy pile that had Papyrus grinding his teeth) and pulled his t-shirt over his head and tossed it at Papyrus’s face. Heavy with sweat, it clung to his cheek before Papyrus shook it off, eyelights murky with disgust.

He’d been interested ever since he had retrieved Papyrus from Waterfall and half-hard after getting to Snowdin, so he didn’t need any more foreplay than the sight of his proud brother on his knees.

As much as he wanted a mouth around him, introducing his cock to that mess of fangs wasn’t a good idea. At least not yet. Maybe if Sans wore him down enough, he might be too exhausted to protest Sans throatfucking him as much as he could take, and a little more after that.

Instead, he began to rub himself against Papyrus’s cheek, smearing precome. “Y’need someone to put you in your place, baby.”

“You’re not monster enough to attempt the task,” Papyrus said, snapping his teeth at Sans’s cock and getting another bone-rattling slap in response. It was a pity he planned to cover up those handprints. Quickly, before Papyrus could guess at his motivations, he grabbed at his skull. With those few seconds of surprise, he pried open his jaw with one hand and rammed the other into his mouth, far back as he could reach. A tongue formed on instinct, and Sans wet his fingers against it and retreated before Papyrus could think to pull away or grab at Sans, too startled at his jaw being forced so wide.

It wasn’t the best lube job, but it made his first few strokes smoother, cock swelling a little more as Papyrus gagged and coughed. “Mother _fucker_ ,” Papyrus wheezed out.

“Not even gonna go with ‘brotherfucker?’ And that was hardly anything, so don’t complain. Haven’t even deepthroated you yet.”

With one hand still working himself, he put the other on top of Papyrus’s skull, pulling him closer. He was probably going to go off early, but who could blame him?

The first splatter always looked the prettiest. Papyrus jerked his head away at the last second, and it caught him at a diagonal. Sans gave himself five points for getting it in his nasal aperture, ten for the few drips in his right eye socket. His hand twitched from the carpet where he was holding himself up, ready to wipe it off, and Sans couldn’t allow that. They had so much farther to go. He stepped right into Papyrus’s face, his cock bobbing against his teeth and a bare foot grinding that hand into the carpet.

“We only started and you wanna wipe off my hard work already? You’re hurting my feelings here. There’s gonna be a lot more where that came from; you’ll have hardly any any white bone left after I’m done with you. And that’s strike one for your hands, by the way. Move ‘em again and those babies are coming off.” A clean bone removal was safe if you were careful, but there was no way he’d be able attach them until Sans decided he had hand privilege again.

(Sometimes he wondered how much Papyrus would have to misbehave before Sans could justify a full limb removal. No arms, no legs, and anything Sans wanted to do with what was left. Nothing he’d ever done came close to needing a punishment like that, but... Maybe someday...?)

He tipped his chin up defiantly, but there was no way to look regal and dignified with jizz dripping off your face. “I doubt your shriveled genitals are up to the task, as you barely lasted seconds,” Papyrus said with a sniff. Probably would’ve sounded more cutting if his voice didn’t shiver at the end.

Kinda hard to be defiant with another round of jizz in the face, though. While his hard-on recovered itself, he smeared little drawings onto Papyrus’s face, gathering enough to write his own name and doodle a few little cocks. Once he got it up again, they’d be covered over, but he didn’t mind.

A third go seemed out of the question without a much longer break, unfortunately. Yeah, he could make Papyrus kneel for ten or twenty minutes, but that was boring.

“Fuck, you’re draining me dry here. My dick’s gonna fall off at this rate.” He went quiet for long enough that Papyrus must’ve thought it was over, based on that relieved look. “Lucky for you, I’m a versatile guy.” He cupped his crotch, fingers stirring and reshaping his magic into a pussy. His magic was going to be drained after this, but it was worth the twelve hour sleep he’d probably need to recharge himself.

The thought of going several more rounds was apparently too much for him, and he tried to push himself up, already snarling that Sans had had his fun, and he wanted to stop more than ever, and blah blah. A lot of posturing for someone so filthy.

With a flick of his fingers, Papyrus’s soul went blue, dragging him down to the floor. Sans kicked here and there until he was in a position flat on his back.“We’re done when I say we’re done. I got a little bit more for you right here, so take it like a good boy.”

With the blue magic, he could only struggle feebly. Sans gave extra attention to his arms and hands, all but gluing them to the carpet. He had barely enough movement to hook his claws through the carpet, as if that would steady him.

As he stood over his brother’s face, the sight of him held down and beaten up left him soaked. Widening his stance, he watched as he began to drip onto Papyrus’s cheekbones. He lowered himself down slowly, until he was inches from straddling his brother’s face, and then with no space between them.

He clamped his femurs against the sides of his skull to keep it still, and jammed his cunt against Papyrus’s face, smearing a trail along it before he settled against his brother’s teeth. “If you _bite_ me, by the way, we’re gonna set a record for how many orgasms in a row I can have like this. Plus it’ll probably get me off faster, just saying.” He squirmed underneath him but couldn’t move enough to dislodge Sans.

With his femurs clamped around Papyrus’s skull, he had nowhere to go, nothing to focus on but Sans’s pussy up against teeth he kept stubbornly shut.

Skeletons didn’t need to breathe in the traditional way, but as Sans rubbed himself against his brother’s face, dripping and smearing everywhere, Papyrus took a desperate inhale. The smell of precome and sweat must have been overwhelming, and they had only started.

With that opportunity, Sans pushed down, jamming his junk partially into Papyrus’s open month. There was a faint prickle of fangs, barely painful and definitely not an actual bite, but he was sure he’d punish him for it anyway. Papyrus kept trying to dismiss his tongue, but with Sans grinding against him, it was inevitable that it stayed. Sans had trained him well.

He didn’t get much stimulation from that tongue, practically hiding in the back of Papyrus’s mouth, but the presence of it was good enough. Like he hoped, Sans came with a splatter, squirting across and into his mouth. Then, while his legs were still shaking from it, he inched up and began to grind up against the bone around his nasal aperture, feeling his clit catch and rub against its edges.

It hurt by that point, after his second release, his clit feeling raw and scraped. But he felt like there was a little bit left in him, and he kind of _wanted_ to still feel it the next day. What was the point of chained orgasms if he didn’t bother trying? Sans knelt back up over his face, jammed his fingers against himself, and began to rub furiously.

His crotch felt like it was burning, and he was about to topple over, legs practically seizing, and fuck, _fuck_ , that last dribble of come splashing against his brother’s face looked like the prettiest thing he had ever _seen_ —

It took a while to come back to reality, sitting on Papyrus’s ribs and dripping on his shirt. Did he have anything more in him after that? Should he grab something to eat, to replenish some magic? Maybe not; even if he could get it up again, there was only so much chafing he could stand. Could he start touching Papyrus more? It’d smear his jizzy masterpiece to try and undress him normally, but he could shove down the pants and leave everything else intact...

Standing up, he ground his bare foot against Papyrus’s leather-covered crotch. There was obvious warmth and softness there, but no bulge of a hard-on. Must’ve been a pussy, and he pushed down in the general clit region. It’d drive him crazy to be the one getting off, having to take everything Sans gave him. He had a few sex toys in the very back of his phone inventory, so it didn’t matter that his own junk was out of commission.

Papyrus renewed his struggles, for all the good it did. The opposite, really—Sans pressed down, but Papyrus was creating all the friction.

Thing was, Papyrus was squirming in a way that looked like pain, not horny desperation. The magic he was giving off said _distress_ in a way that wasn’t the want and denial from a forced orgasm. It wasn’t like he was stomping on his junk or anything. He pulled back, ready to see if Papyrus would beg, when there was a wet rush, darkening the crotch of his pants. Even if the smell didn’t give it away, the amount would have—he never was a gusher, like Sans. There shouldn’t have been that much.

He had pissed himself, and his expression crumpled. One final release, and he was done with this game. To him, this was the final humiliation, not only a mess but one he had made himself.

He’d always been a messy crier, but not a loud one. As kids, both of them had trained themselves out of making any noise. It was fine if you got all snotty hiding in the bushes from another monster, but if you snuffled, the gig was up. And once they were out of stripes, no crying at all, unless it was a few drops behind three layers of locks after checking for surveillance. Now he was _sobbing_ without caring about his volume _,_ breath hitching and wobbling. His teeth were clenched, eyeliner dripping, watery magic started to carve roads through the jizz coating his face. Sans didn’t think he could possibly choke out their safeword, but the crying gave the same message.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

He slipped on his shorts, ignoring the damp patches as he knelt down beside his brother and took his hand. It was fine if he got messy too, that was hardly his sort of hangup. “You ready to stop?” Papyrus gave a shaky, desperate nod. “Yeah, you’re done. Real proud of you, Boss.” Sans helped pull him up to sitting and then to his feet, though the squelch in his pants and the mess running down his face made him whimper. He was shaking pretty hard, and he kept an arm around him, to be sure he wouldn’t collapse.

Papyrus wept harder as Sans led him through a single step shortcut; he already had enough drips to scrub out of the carpet as it was, no use in leaving more. He sat Papyrus down on the edge of the bathtub. He started to rub at his face, kinda uselessly considering how much was there, and it’s not like he had anything to wipe his hands on. At least he wasn’t clawing at himself like the first time, back when Sans really didn’t know if this whole thing was a good idea.

He caught Papyrus’s hands in his own. “Shhh. Hey, settle down. Y’don’t wanna mess up your gloves with all this. I’m gonna take care of it, you sit tight.” He peeled off those gloves and quickly wiped them down, hoping it wasn’t already soaking in and ruining the leather.

The rest of Papyrus wasn’t going to be so easy. The piss wasn’t exactly a _regular_ thing, so it took extra effort to undress him, but at least he realized he and Sans had the same goal and didn’t argue. His pants were practically glued on, there were jizz splatters from the waist up, and one sleeve had a tear he couldn’t account for... At least Papyrus was becoming lucid enough to lift his hips and arms to help.

Laundry could wait for a little while. He had plenty of other, identical uniforms to wear.

Once he was bare, Papyrus carefully lowered himself into the empty tub. Sans had learned after the first time that if he rinsed Boss down first, he wouldn’t have to sit in a pool of body fluids while cleaning the rest. Carefully, making sure the water pressure and temperature weren’t too high, he started spraying off Papyrus’s skull with the showerhead. He tilted his head so Sans could rinse the jizz from his eye sockets and even opened his mouth to spray down his red-tinted teeth. His nasal aperture was too small to reach inside, even for his tiny fingers, and getting water shot up there would’ve sucked, so he cleaned that out with a bunch of wet cotton swabs. By that point, Papyrus wasn’t shaking so bad, so he rinsed his own hands. They were perfectly clean still, but it seemed to make him feel better.

The whole time Papyrus let him do all of it. He was still crying, but it was starting to slow down. By the time Sans started filling the tub, he breathed normally, leaning against the porcelain. He looked tired out from all that half-struggle.

“Here.” Sans tossed a sponge into the water, and he only stared at it for a few seconds before he remembered what to do with it. “Start on your legs, why dontcha?” Which, of course, left the most stained parts for him to clean, while still getting him back into the swing of actually functioning.

One sponge for each of them, though Papyrus’s cleaning job was a lot more sluggish. Sans made sure not to press too firmly, wiping off fluids until his bones were gleaming and clean. The musky smell faded, replaced by soap. Between the two of them, he was soon pristine.

“Feelin’ better?” He reached for a towel.

Papyrus looked at him with dim, flickering eyelights. “If you believe I’d let you into bed when you’re hardly cleaner than I was, you’ve gone mad.”

He looked down at his bare ribcage, covered in soul drippings, and his legs streaked with magic. He had considered a quick rinse off before getting Papyrus to bed, and a proper shower once he had fallen asleep. “Tub’s not really big enough for two.” They’d tested that plenty before, in happier ways.

“Oh, you’ll manage. Hurry it up before it dries on your bones.” Dropping his shorts, he climbed in. Ideally, he would’ve sat between Papyrus’s legs, but the tub was narrow enough that he couldn’t spread them that far, and Sans was halfway on his lap instead.

It wasn’t all that sexy, to be honest. The water was cooling off, there were elbows and knees jutting everywhere, and he settled for a brisk scrubbing that got no points for sensuality. The bathwater was pink-tinted in seconds. Sans wanted to finish up with his lower half and leave it at that, but he had sweated pretty hard, and there was no way Boss would let him into bed like that.

“So, you wanna talk about it?” He didn’t look at his brother, staring fixedly at his thighbones instead. Sometimes, Boss took a few days to say it, that so and so criminal was killed trying to escape or that he’d had to chase down kid thieves in the Capital when all he wanted to do was bundle them up and feed them all the pasta he could muster. There had been a few times where he never admitted what had happened, but almost always, it was some atrocity done by the Royal Guard, whether he had participated or stood back to see someone else do it.

He had to be punished, one way or another. Every day, he tried to make the Underground a better place, and when he couldn’t, Sans could make sure the guilt could ease so Papyrus could try again. A fight, a punishment, helplessness played out.

Boss sighed, pressing his cheek against the top of Sans’s skull. His voice came out in a raspy whisper. “They’re so cruel to the trainees as of late. I don’t remember it ever being that harsh. Undyne thought I was holding back on one of them, and she was right, I shouldn’t coddle, but... She was in double digits and could barely stand by the time Undyne let her concede. And _I_ did that to her.”

Fuck. “She’s alive still,” Sans said, rubbing circles on the back of Boss’s hand. “She could get stronger from it. Undyne’s a shithead sometimes, but she cares enough not to let the rookies get torn apart. Apologize and slip her something for healing, tomorrow, and you’ll be good.”

There was a snort that Boss tried to camouflage into a cough. “Don’t say such things about our commanding officer.”

“C’mon, you gotta admit it’s true.” He pulled the plug and rinsed them off a final time as the water drained out. He climbed out of the tub, and while Papyrus tried to get his limbs in check, Sans took his skull in his hand, looking deep into his sockets. “The Judge of the Underground sees your atonement and finds it satisfactory. Your guilt can be released.”

Boss always got starry-eyed and reverent at the Judge voice and the wisps of magic that floated from him whenever he used it. He was still in a trance by the time Sans had dried off, and he startled at the towel dropped on his head. “Bro, you’re gonna catch a cold at this rate, hurry it up.”

Once they were dry and wrapped in bathrobes, he ushered Papyrus into his bedroom and into bed. “Feeling up to dinner?”

“Nothing that’d leave crumbs,” Boss mumbled, turning his face into the pillow. “And don’t take too long.” Sans reached the threshold before he spoke up again. “And start the laundry, please!”

He gave a teasing salute, but he knew he’d be rushing for once.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy late birthday Type, have some garbage fellbros. （*´▽｀*)♡ I struggled somewhat with this, so I hope it still entertains.


End file.
